Introduce
a little fun–
Snows and rain,
a climbing drive
through mountain forests
beside a swelling
gleaming, speeding
river stream,
At top of which
to debark at last,
at shore quite smooth and round and plumb,
to change one kind
of car
for quite another one,
a box that you
can stride inside,
which swings along a string
that pulls you up
way high, so high
towards the sky,
a moving perch from which
to marvel at the spectacle–
the giant azure lake,
whence the water
of the cold, cold river
had oh so quickly, newly come.
Once at the top,
the swiftness
and the crispness,
feeling steps above the norm,
for me,
and for
the air and earth and gullies,
poking vegetation,
in their unveiling
where the wash of sun
and rain
begin allegro tempo
fast away to whittle
the layers multitudinous
of heaped up banks of snow,
most thickened in the month
when each year’s snow banks
are on notice
it is the start
of their usually gradual end,
the time when slowly,
layer by layer–
they have no choice but go–
they make their exit,
and melt into
the pull
of mountain rivers’ downward flow.
The wakening bodies
of overwinter chilling
beasts and birds and bees–
yea, everything that moves
and breathes
or grows and greens
delight in warmth
that lets them do their active thing. . .
But still,
remains there
some of them
who mourn
the loss of still and cold and quiet
that drove them safely
down inside,
where,
in the special peace of dark,
their very nature
could be, in season, new discovered,
along with fresh ideas and plans
that, in dim days and starry nights
apace in plenty formed.
The Danforth Anchor 